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By Geena Slow Look out at the grasslands, gulp, and get going.   Better guzzle some water. Pretend you’re Rango, a reptile seeking power Blink in the dust, exfoliate your eyes until the wind crackles a laugh.  I couldn’t help but notice you noticing me noticing you.  Stamp out a cigarette with your bare feet. Swallow the sting  like you are the problem. Feel your tongue flicker out and in like a lizard. Taste the cumin. Hear the mosquitos. Whistle something happy. I’m down to one layer of skin already.  Side-step the possum on the yellow lines with its jaw hanging open in an infinite scream, like that man on the bridge with intensities for sky  but with sharp teeth and fur. Pick an orange prairie flower   and let it fall gently. It ain’t pretty, but if looked at the right way, kind of is.  Pretty soon, I’m going to start seeing my insides.   The clouds stain smoke-scarlet. The fire is licking its way  through the landscape, like you, hungry and a little lost.  Leaving behind glossy and oddly familiar sketches of trees and simmering fences. Burn everything but Shakespeare.  Walk past the helicopters circling like flies in the golden orb of the sun, Battling the haze for control of the hills.  Something stirs in the West   as the evening eats itself up   with its own light. Geena Slow is a wide eyed graduate of Te Herenga Waka Victoria University from a small mining town. She wants to walk and write in forests everywhere around the world. If you’re interested, her work is featured in Starling , Overcom , and 2023 Ōrongohau Best New Zealand Poems .

Words by: Mana Puketapu Hokianga | Te Atiawa, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Toa, Ngāti Poporo, Ngāti Ruapani Listen to the song “Māori boy” by Jgeeks and the Geeks before or while you're reading this to set the mindset for the read. This is only a short story, so surely. Anyways, Hidden In the lush valleys of Aotearoa, a Māori boy named Tūkōrehu grew up with pure naive optimism. Here he would learn traditional waiata, haka, mōteatea, absorbing the pūrākau passed down through generations, treating the knowledge of whakapapa, tikanga and kawa as wealth, rather than the accumulation of money. Yet, as he matured, Tūkōrehu found himself grappling with the conflicting expectations of his iwi and the evolving world around him. In the eyes of his kaumātua, Tūkōrehu was to become a kaitiaki of his whānau, and the Rangatira of his iwi. He was expected to master the art of carving, to tend to the gardens of his home to provide for his kin, and to uphold the values of mana and tapu. But in the midst of modernity, these ideals often felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the clamour of a rapidly changing society. Tūkōrehu would venture out of his papa kāinga to travel a world where success was measured by academic achievement and material wealth, where emotional expression was encouraged, but traditional stoicism still held sway. He felt the pull of tradition tugging at his soul, urging him to honour the past, while the allure of the future beckoned with promises of individuality and progress. As he journeyed through adolescence, Tūkōrehu grappled with his identity, torn between the expectations of his culture and the realities of the modern world. He sought guidance from his kaumātua, drawing strength from their wisdom, yet yearning to forge his own path. In the end, Tūkōrehu realised that true maturity lay not in adhering blindly to tradition or embracing change for its own sake, but in finding a balance between the two. He learned to honour the wisdom of his ancestors while embracing the opportunities of the present silently, and calmly, knowing that his journey to manhood was not a destination, but a continual evolution of self-discovery and growth.  And that's it.   This is the end of part one of a fictional series named Son of the Tribe , about the breather named Tūkōrehu. Take the page to VUWSA if you want to see more of this series.

By Larry McMyler I hold my hands skin-searingly close to a fire of my father’s making. I am ten, not yet old enough  to drink my warmth like the other men.  I revere this sun, born not of a   lightning strike or a rogue cigarette, but   of a tentative and unflinching hand.  I wonder what life within may be like, to   be kept at an arm’s length and no more—more  importantly to produce no epitaph but stardust.  When I get bored of coveting the black inside of mauve inside of yellow, I make myself of use by slicing myself lengthwise then widthwise several times.   I catch the wind, but not on wings, I   smile an apostate’s promise  and vanish when morning comes.   I have occupied this night for seven summers or  more, taken a toothpick to this cardboard box again and again until there is nothing but daylight left. Larry McMyler is a film and media student at Te Herenga Waka.

Words by: Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson Litia Tuiburelevu (Fijian Pākehā Tongan) is the writer and director behind the wave-making docuseries, STILL HERE . In response to the changing cultural and physical landscape of Aukilani, Litia set out to document the lives of families who made it what it is today. Despite rampant gentrification in Central Tāmaki Makaurau, the Pacific diaspora remains. STILL HERE is a visual representation of a zealous resistance to the erasure of intergenerational influence in inner-city suburbs. With Litia at the helm, alongside Ursula Williams and Torisse Laulu, STILL HERE tells the complex, colourful stories of Tagata Moana who live there now.  Growing up in Ponsonby, Litia’s frustrations about unwelcome changes in her neighbourhood stirred just beneath the surface. She saw real estate agents who relentlessly banged down her friends’ front doors with pushy propositions, and whitewashed buildings that sprung up overnight like an abrupt invitation to get out of the way. While her emotions churned internally, she searched for an avenue that would allow her to accurately express them. Out of high school, Litia studied law and art history at The University of Auckland. There, she trained as a lawyer, following in her mother’s footsteps. However, Litia had always been enamoured with film. She saw it as a powerful medium for storytelling and activism.  In law school, Litia wrote a compelling essay about gentrification in Pacific communities. But she believed that this story was better told through moving images. Litia’s drive to say something that had been on the tip of her tongue for years converged with her desire to follow a lifelong passion. She decided it was time to pick up a camera.  Firstly, Litia took stock of the resources that were within her reach. Knowing that she wasn’t formally qualified in film and lacked industry connections, Litia felt the humbling weight of her own ambition. Nevertheless, she utilised her existing writing skills and solid internet connection to get the ball rolling. Once Litia had recorded her ideas on Word doc’s and Canva slides, she took a deep breath and shared them with Torisse Laulu, an emerging producer who was keen to collaborate.  Soon after connecting with each other, Torisse and Litia posted a call for contributors to their project on social media. Much to their surprise, they received over 100 responses in one night. This led to the assembly of an eager and talented team. With basic equipment and momentum building, Litia and her small crew captured the leaving party of the Williams family at 101 Rose Road, Grey Lynn. This bittersweet memorial became a seven minute proof of concept, edited on iMovie and sent to countless platforms and producers. Thankfully, Ursula Williams from 4&5 Films picked it up and supported the series to secure funding from NZ On Air.  Following the confirmation of funding for the first season, Litia and Torisse brought another influential collaborator on board—Niuean Hip Hop artist, Diggy Dupé. Diggy opened the series with a candid kōrero and an intimate tour of his hometown in the “city boys” episode.  “We really wanted him”, Litia says, “given that his Central identity is such a core theme of his artistry. So, we just reached out and thankfully he said ‘yes’!” Since its release in July 2022, STILL HERE has evolved into an acclaimed body of work that thousands of people have engaged with online—airing on Re: News and TVNZ OnDemand, and receiving the ‘Best Video Documentary Series’ title at the 2023 Voyager Media Awards. It’s an official hit!  Beyond the numbers, STILL HERE  is a time capsule that serves to connect, educate and uplift. Litia, Ursula and Torisse have successfully created art that accentuates the mana of people and place. With a second season continuing to make waves, it is only a matter of time before the whole country (*cough* THE WORLD) sees the unapologetically brown version of Central Aukilani that they know best.

Words by Te Huihui o Matariki Chi Huy Tran (he/him) - Taranaki Tūturu, Te iwi o Maruwharanui, Ngāti Maniapoto Aotearoa’s Efforts to Preserve Cyclone-Damaged Marae and Homes on Māori Land In a move to safeguard the cultural heritage of Māori communities, the New Zealand government has launched an initiative to support the relocation of marae and homes on whenua Māori that were damaged by cyclones. This effort aims to protect these culturally significant sites from further damage, and ensure the safety and preservation of these vital community spaces. The process involves navigating complex ownership structures and cultural considerations, emphasising the importance of collaboration and respect for indigenous traditions. It showcases a commitment to honouring and protecting the rich cultural heritage and tiakanga of Māori. Mārama's Surgery Journey is Empowering! Marama Davidson will soon go through surgery, and her openness about her breast cancer diagnosis is incredibly important for women's health awareness. Her bravery in sharing her experience and emphasising the significance of mammograms for early detection is truly inspiring. By prioritising her own health and family, she sets a compelling example for women everywhere to take charge of their health. Let's continue to support and uplift each other, spreading awareness and advocating for regular screenings to ensure the well-being of all wāhine.  Top 10 Most Popular Ingoa Māori for our Pēpi this Matariki Released by Te Tari Taiwhenua every Māori new year. For our future young pāpā and māmā out there, if you’re ready to take that next step after graduating lol, or during studying, chur. Tama:  Ariki/Te Ariki, Wiremu, Rāwiri, Mikaere, Nikau, Koa, Manaia, Manaaki, Kiwa, Kaitoa. Kōtiro:  Aroha/Te Aroha, Amaia, Maia, Anahera, Moana, Manaia, Ataahua, Marama, Atarangi, Tui.

DAN MOSKOVITZ (HE/HIM If there is one thing Aotearoa is known for, it’s birds. If there is one thing birds are known for, it’s their feathers. This information is apparently novel to Cadbury Australia.  While in Melbourne last month, I came across a store selling Cadbury chocolate as part of a promotion called “Furry Friends.” Said chocolate features pictures of quintessential Australian creatures like echidnas, platypuses, and… kiwi? As we learnt, way back in paragraph one, kiwi are birds, and as such have feathers, not fur.  A Cadbury spokesperson said the “Furry Friends” promotion was only in Australia, despite kiwi being endemic to New Zealand. Cadbury did not comment as to why a feathery animal endemic to Aotearoa was included in an Australian marketing campaign about furry animals. In a statement, NZ-owned chocolate brand Whittakers responded, saying “Kiwi are feathered rather than furry, and Whittaker’s is known for telling it like it is in our marketing and our wider commitment to Good Honest Chocolate.” “It’s not really for us to comment on the inclusion of kiwi and other ‘friends’ that aren’t furry in that range, [but] irrespective of any differences in how furriness is interpreted, it’s nice that in Australia they consider kiwis to be their friends.”

Words by Jia Sharma If you have engaged with the Wellington music scene at all, I’m sure you have heard of First Reserve. Often spotted performing at San Fran, the singer and bassist has just released his latest single, “Alice”. Last week, San Fran hosted a release show featuring a thrilling performance by First Reserve, alongside supporting acts Keira Batten Coogan and Red Necklace. As someone who has seen both the openers multiple times, I can safely say that they never disappoint, successfully building the energy of the crowd and setting the stage perfectly for First Reserve's entrance. "Alice" marks First Reserve’s third single to be released on streaming platforms. Written last year and recorded with Joe from Wet Denim, the song is based on a true experience and serves as a rejection of not feeling valid within your relationship. I’ve seen quite a few live performances by First Reserve now, and "Alice" is precisely the song I hoped they would release as a single. It was also the first song that resonated with me, and I was beyond excited by the idea of hearing a recorded version. The drums and guitar blend seamlessly with the vocals, capturing the same raw energy and authenticity as their live shows. The song’s infectious chorus, with the line “please don't call me again,” lingers in my mind long after the music stops. The release show was one of the best experiences I’ve had at San Fran. I remember the way the energy raised more than I even thought possible when First Reserve appeared with his bass and signature eyeliner. What initially intrigued me about First Reserve was the combination of being a singer and bassist. When I asked about this, he explained a preference for playing bass over guitar, describing it as a sort of oxymoron. The singer is usually the focal point, while bassists often go unnoticed—a true injustice, I know. Luckily, when it comes to First Reserve, they are sure to capture the crowd.  The audience sang along passionately to every song, and the excitement peaked when the recognizable opening chords of "Alice" echoed through the venue. The crowd’s reaction was overwhelming—everyone sang along to every word, creating an unforgettable moment.  In addition to the single’s release on streaming platforms, fans can eagerly anticipate First Reserve’s first music video, set to debut within the month. The video promises a unique blend of creepy and comedic elements, making it a must-watch. But First Reserve isn’t slowing down—"Alice" is the final single before they move on to a full EP, set to release in a couple of months.  Be sure to check out First Reserve and "Alice" on streaming platforms, and keep an eye out for the upcoming music video. They also have two upcoming shows: one on the third of July at Meow with Ani Saafa, and one on the first of August with Debt Club at Valhalla. I can promise you, a performance by First Reserve is not one to miss.

Words by: Jia Sharma (she/her) Blunt Dog is a band I’ve been hearing about since the start of the year, but until recently, I hadn’t come across any of their gigs. So, when I found out they were playing at San Fran a couple of weeks ago and that I had the chance to write about them, I jumped at the opportunity. The rarity of Blunt Dog’s gigs all made sense when I discovered that the band is split between Auckland and Wellington. This logistical challenge requires them to strategically time and organise trips for both performances and recording sessions. Luckily, I caught them during one of these trips. In addition to playing an Eyegum Wednesday at San Fran, Blunt Dog spent the weekend recording their upcoming album at the Massey University studio. The album, titled Bullet Train To Dunedin , promises a warm and unpolished sound reminiscent of old home recordings. This album marks a significant departure from their first album, How is a Dog So Honest? . The new tracks, primarily derived from guitarist and vocalist Dom’s demos, are both harder and softer, expanding on the range of their earlier work. The album concept originated from drummer Logan’s whimsical idea of a Japanese bullet train travelling from Britomart station in Auckland to Dunedin, described by the band as “a moment of genius and a passage of jest.” Blunt Dog played some of their new songs at their show at San Fran, which the crowd absolutely loved. I remember barely being able to see the back of the room because of how full it was. The vocal harmonies throughout their songs were a standout for me.  Based on the new songs I heard, Bullet Train To Dunedin  is definitely an album to watch for. I’m particularly intrigued by how the band operates with members split between two cities. Their first album was recorded before half the band moved to Auckland, but as they described, “the internet is magic”. While they are separate, they practise their individual parts until they can align gigs and recording sessions to happen within the same week. Guitarist and vocalist Simon attributes their successful collaboration to a “shared understanding and love of the songs.” The album is set to release in late 2024, but in the meantime, I highly recommend listening to their first album, which came out on Spotify last year. If you’re keen on an album that channels “utopian ideals of public infrastructure” and want to be part of the start of the bullet train to Dunedin movement, keep an eye on Blunt Dog.

Words by: Lyra Caughley   (she/her) Victoria Ancient Theatre Society’s first offering this year, Iphigeneia at Aulis, adapted Euripides’s tragedy concerning Agamemnon’s mythic decision to sacrifice his own daughter. As someone who’s been obsessed with classical myth during past studies, I was enchanted by this show’s atmosphere and the chilling clarity of its storytelling. The stage was a long rectangle situated between two seating blocks, so the actors were constantly performing side-on to the audience, or turning and pivoting to address each block in turn. This brought to mind a painting on an ancient Greek vase, and the small venue and proximity to the stage only reinforced this impression. Actors’ profiles were revealed in stark clarity—every grimace, every tear, every flicker of emotion. The costumes (Lillian Graham, Lizzie Bysouth) were gorgeously designed with layered drapery, patterns, tassels and jewellery. The music, particularly Cate Sharma’s live clarinet performance and the chorus’s enchanting vocals, breathed further life into the show’s atmosphere. I felt as if I was being drawn into a living painting, epic and intimate all at once.  The only drawback of the staging was that it restricted the audience’s access to a few powerful moments, such as a confrontation between Menelaus (Lincoln Swinerd) and Agamemnon’s slave (Zachary Klein) where the former’s fury and the latter’s defiant glare were utterly chilling, but large sections of the audience would have been unable to see both actors’ expressions. I was only fortunate enough because I saw the show twice. Lincoln Swinerd as Agamemnon was persuasive and deeply sympathetic, especially in his subtler reactions—the quiver of his lip as he clung to silent composure, for example, or the moments where he covered his mouth, as if fearing he was about to throw up. Swinerd’s claimed misery in the early scenes occasionally struck me as slightly incongruent with his restrained delivery, but this hardly detracted from the overall power of his performance, which only grew more layered as the play progressed. Scarlett Rumble’s performance as Clytemnestra was compelling and utterly harrowing, and Anna Curzon-Hobson as Iphigeniea nailed every emotional beat, from joy to despair to radiant, chilling resolve. I was charmed by the brash sincerity of Noah Kaio as Achilles, and mesmerised by the chants and proclamations of the chorus (brilliantly led by Ava O’Brien). While I lack background familiarity with the play, this translation struck me as crisp and powerful and transparent, and evidently faithful to the idiosyncrasies of the original text. The language drifted slightly into modern slang in more comedic moments—like the chorus lusting over Greek heroes—but never to the point of cheapening its subject matter. The unfamiliar values of such an ancient story were presented faithfully for the audience to grapple with, and inevitably find humanity in.

Words by Jia Sharma (she/her) Few things in life bring as much joy as Eyegum Wednesdays at San Fran. This weekly event consistently showcases a diverse roster of talented artists, fosters a vibrant community amongst musicians and music lovers alike, and best of all, it’s free. For me, it’s the perfect antidote to my mid-week academic burnout. Last week’s Eyegum featured two highly anticipated bands: Lipstick, and Crying Club. I’m a fan of Lipstick, and Crying Club has been on my must-see list for a long time; this was a show I couldn’t miss. Lipstick kicked off the night and did not disappoint. I’ve been to several of their shows now and their alt-rock and Brit-pop sound never fails to captivate the room. Their set was filled with songs that regular Lipstick fans could sing along to, and even first-timers would find themselves easily vibing with the music. Each band member had moments to shine, which I greatly appreciate. The highlight of the night was bassist Dillon’s electrifying solo in "Rom Com" which was stuck in my head for the rest of the night. In general, all the solos were great. Harry's guitar solos always hit perfectly, inciting cheers from the crowd, while Jake Stokes on drums brought an infectious energy to the room. And of course, Oliver on lead vocals delivers an amazing performance with a vibrant stage presence. Their cover of A-Ha’s "Take On Me" was a crowd favourite that had the whole venue singing along. Next up was Crying Club. I had listened to their EP on Spotify prior to the show and was thrilled to find they sounded just as good live. Their self-description is spot on: “Up until recently, it was something like The Used and The Strokes sharing a candlelit dinner at a fancy riverside restaurant. When 2024 hit, Attack Attack managed to get past security and is now chasing everyone around with a tennis racket while foaming at the mouth.” Go to one of their gigs and this comparison will make perfect sense. Crying Club delivered a performance that was captivating from any vantage point, with lead vocalist Datu’s voice bouncing around the room, amplified by the backing vocals of the rest of the band. The band’s synergy and joy in performing were immediately noticeable. Their loud, gritty sound resonated well with the audience, who matched their energy throughout. I’m now determined to catch any and all of their upcoming shows and become a Crying Club regular. This Eyegum Wednesday was one of the best I’ve attended. I can't stress enough how much everyone should experience Eyegum. The sense of community is incredibly strong—it’s such a welcoming environment, and I always see familiar faces. The variety of genres means there’s something for everyone. I’ve discovered many of my new favourite bands at Eyegum and met amazing people along the way. Supporting local artists and venues is crucial—they won’t disappoint.

and Other Times I've Almost Died  Eulogised by Will Tickner (he/him)) Hello, my name is Will. I’m a second year in Theatre and Film, I am 6,3ft, and I may be a dominatrix the way I’ve edged the Grim Reaper. I think I am the dumbest person in New Zealand; I believed the word “chameleon” was spelt with a silent “B.” I thought Napier was in the South Island. I have nearly died multiple times . Each time I zoot past Death on a Beam scooter, I usually learn a valuable lesson. Some of my “near deaths” are literal, others are metaphorical, most are hysterical. Regardless, I hope the morals I’ve learnt will help readers not to make the same mistakes, such as swimming at Breaker Bay.  #1 Sabrina Carpenter Nearly Killed Me  I love my noise-cancelling headphones. I love the way I can listen to Sabrina Carpenter’s "Espresso” as if I’m not the one who gets obsessed. If you see me wearing them around campus, please feel free to not approach me. I am having enrichment time in my enclosure. Two months ago, I left my flat to go to work. I was wearing my headphones, and when I stepped out on the road, some fuckhead’s 2003 rustbucket came out of nowhere at full speed. I froze like a deer in headlights, and I heard his tires screech to a halt over Sabrina Carpenter’s sexy sexy vocals. I sheepishly moved off the road as he cussed me out (valid). It wasn’t until he was out of sight I realised it could have been avoided, if only I could hear him coming.  Lesson: There’s a time and place for Sabrina Carpenter.  #2 That Guy With The Knife  Just before I started my first year at uni, I decided I wanted to explore my sexual identity and spread my wings.  In other words I started my whore era, and spread my legs.  Early in this era, I met up with a man. He was well-off, attractive, and an age I’m not willing to disclose. I soon realised after I parked my car in his driveway that he might as well have been the national banner of China because he was a walking red flag. He lived in a spotless house (weird). He only wanted to do stuff on the single bed despite having two larger beds (so weird). He also started to make some very racist comments about Te Reo, unprompted (wtf wtf wtf). I decided I needed to pull an Irish goodbye when he started making a gin and tonic with lemons (the sign of the devil). As he cut them up in the kitchen, I snuck into the bedroom to get my car keys. When I turned around, there he was standing in the doorway still half-naked, holding the  large serrated knife like Billy Loomis, and asking what I’m doing. I then put my acting skills to the test as I awkwardly said my brother called, asking why I’m not home and I need to go. After hearing that, he let me leave. It wasn’t until I was speeding home that I realised that were I to become one of his little lemons, no one would know where I was.  Lesson: When whoring around, turn your location on.  #3 My Grandfather is An Asshole  I grew up somewhat rural, and my grandparents owned a large farm. We lived close to them, so every weekend my parents forced my grandparents to look after The Two Shitheads (me and my brother). One of these days when I was five, I was helping my grandfather with his cattle. Unprompted, he grumbled to me, “ Don’t touch the electric fence .”  I touched the electric fence.  It was a little zap, and I thought it was funny. I kept touching it for another five minutes, zapping myself. My grandfather clocked this, and crept over to the control box where he immediately upped the ante. I was told years later it was “OnLy TuRnEd Up A FeW NOtcHeS,” but looking back I’m pretty sure he fried a few of my brain cells.  Lesson: Listen to your elders.  #4 Do Not Swim At Breaker Bay  If the title of this isn’t clear, let me spell it for you.  Don’t go swimming at the nudist beach, Breaker Bay, with your friends.  Don’t think that it’s a good idea.  Don’t go during the evening, when there’s barely anyone around.  Don’t listen to your friend when she points out a really hot naked guy heading to the water. Don’t think it’s a good idea to follow him.  Don’t push past the three metre waves, as if it's not a warning.  Don’t swim out into the sea where it's calmer, looking for the hot naked guy. Don’t relax together, laughing as it gets dark.  If you’ve done this, you’re already screwed.  When you decide to head back to shore you can’t, because you’re stuck in a rip. When you and your friends try to, you won’t make progress because you’re stuck in a rip. When you swim for another ten minutes, you still won’t get further because you’re stuck in a rip. When you stop to catch your breath, you’ll be sucked out further because you’re stuck in a rip. When you yell for your friends to help you, they can’t help because they’re also stuck in the rip. Suddenly, you remember that Breaker Bay is known for lethal waters.  That’s when you realise that you are—in fact— stuck in a rip .  I do not know how we managed to make it back to shore. What was worse than getting stuck in the rip was getting back through the waves again. I had never been bowled by a wave before, and let me tell you it’s a religious experience. You will see God. When we finally made it back to shore, coughing up salt water, we realised one of us had sliced their foot open on the rocks. The hot naked guy had disappeared; I'm fairly certain he was a siren who led horny teenagers into the water to drown them. Me and my mates then proceeded to tidy ourselves up and drive home in silence with nothing but a bleeding foot and kelp in our lungs.  Lesson: … Take a guess.  In conclusion, life is short. Scarily short . Sometimes life knocks you off early, and sometimes it grazes you by. Yet, I believe you can’t truly understand your own mortality until you’ve had a near death experience, or polished off three bottles of Soju. The times that you are blessed to live another day on this planet, you’ll learn lessons which will help you to not make the same mistakes again.  You also get to tell the funny story of nearly drowning at Breaker Bay because of a hot mermaid.  With delusion and confusion,   Will Tickner x

Words by Kaleb Evans-Lao Photos by Kohika Creative Let's make one thing clear: this article will be discussing Animegao Kigurumi. If you look up ‘kigurumi’ online, you’re mainly going to see onesies. However if you want to know more about this style of cosplay you’ll have to look up ‘Animegao Kigurumi’ specifically.  Now that we have that out of the way, it’s time to explore the niche genre of cosplay that is picking up steam. Kigurumi is a Japanese word generally meaning costumed character, and Animegao means “anime face”—the two words compound to give us Animegao Kigurumi (shorthand referred to as kigurumi or kig). Kigurumi is a form of cosplay where the idea is to look like an anime doll. This is achieved via a kigurumi mask. Which is often coupled with a hadatai, a sort of full body “sock” that makes your skin look much smoother and less detailed.  Both of these elements combine to create a stunning level of accuracy to the character—it's arguably the closest thing you’ll get to IRL anime women (or men). Of course it's not all about accuracy. As Polyblank (@Catchmesnapper on insta) says “it takes away the stress or worrying about makeup, facial expression and insecurities, you surprise yourself with how confident you become while wearing a mask of your favourite character.” Alastrina (@alistairk1 on twitter) adds “in a sense it's ageless. It allows you to cosplay identifiably and accurately as your favourite anime character regardless of your own gender or age”. I personally enjoy kigurumi purely because of how much you can mess with people. Everyone stares at you, but they don't know that under the mask you’re staring right back. It is also nice to be anonymous in cosplay—no one knows who you are under the mask, and I think kigurumi would be great for those who may be anxious but still want to cosplay.  There are however downsides, the main ones being that it's impossible to verbally communicate through the mask, and your vision is limited. With practice one can mitigate these issues slightly, but it's best if you have a friend to be your eyes and voice. Also, you don't tend to fare too well in the heat, but that won't be a problem in Wellington.  Another big barrier for many is the cost of getting a mask. Admittedly there are cheap options, if you're willing to do a bit of DIY you may be able to get one for under $300 (a good chunk of that is shipping) but there are pre-made ones for a similar price. Polyblank sums it up well: “Start small! Your first kig doesn't have to be perfect or greatly detailed, all that matters is that you enjoy wearing it.”. Alastina also says “take your time to research the characters you love. think about the most appropriate mask builder with the style that suits best. Think about how you are going to get into the cosplay and manoeuvre with the mask/suit and cosplay—otherwise go for it. Also it's worth saving and focusing on quality for kigurumi. Good masks can be expensive, but when you weigh that against the cost of everything else—I think it's worthwhile”. It's always good to research before you make any big purchase, and I would suggest seeing videos of people demonstrating mask vision so you can experience what it's like to wear it before you commit to a mask yourself (if you ask really nicely you may borrow mine: @the_casual_kig on insta). Kigurumi is a niche hobby to say the least, even in its origin country of Japan it is still relatively underground. Here in Aotearoa such obscurity is exacerbated—there are only 7 publicly known kigurumi cosplayers (including myself) in New Zealand, but I was pleasantly surprised during this year's Armageddon how many people recognized the style of cosplay.  If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you are even a little bit interested in this hobby, I encourage you to contact me via my insta. From there I can direct you to people who know much more than me (such as Alastina and Polyblank, who were a great help writing this article). Kigurumi is a lot of fun, and it's a cosplay type that is open to anyone, any age, any gender, any colour. As Alastrina puts it “I'm over 50 and I can do a reasonable job of cosplaying the characters I love”. But whether your portraying your favourite hololive member, genshin impact four star, manga character, or an OC brewed from your repressed angst, I think the most important thing about kigurumi is summed up nicely with this quote from Polyblank “don't let others bother you about it either, sure, it's a unique hobby, that just makes you a little more cooler than everyone else.”